


Cherry Blossoms

by SerendipityDreamer



Series: In Bloom [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 00:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerendipityDreamer/pseuds/SerendipityDreamer
Summary: In the spring, hope blooms. Hanzo Shimada bears old wounds.Jesse McCree likes Hanzo Shimada. Jesse is going to try and help if he can.





	Cherry Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is like, probably years in the making, but god I love McHanzo and god I love writing angst so *will smith hands* here you go

"A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, a man cannot live without love."

Max Muller

* * *

Jesse sits on a crate in the hangar next to the Watchpoint practice range. His are feet planted on the floor but his right leg is bouncing restlessly. He is dressed in his usual cowboy-style field gear, minus his serape, because Soldier 76 (Not Commander Morrison, Jesse wasn’t going to call him that anymore) said it would attract too much attention on their recon mission. Jesse had put up a fight, not because he didn’t agree with the old soldier, but because 76 wasn’t the one in charge of subtlety, not to him anyhow. That right belonged to Reyes.

 

Reyes had always valued subtlety and stealth, but he never compromised character. Reyes was always decked in combat gear and a black beanie with his twin shotguns strapped to his back and a wry grin on his face. Jesse was an urban cowboy all in black without his spurs, his hair longer and pulled back away from his face. Genji, consumed by anger, looked like some demon ninja straight out of hell. Even Moira, when she deigned to join them on field missions, always wore her beret and that claw like equipment on her hands. As a group they looked anything but subtle, but no one had ever been able to pin them down. It was why Blackwatch had been on the top of its game. But the bigger they are the harder they fall, isn’t that the rule? At least that’s what it felt like when Blackwatch, and then Overwatch, had finally come crashing down.

 

But that was years ago. It felt like an entire lifetime had passed between then and now. Friends had died or disappeared, while others had to get on on with whatever was left of their lives. Some, like Jesse, were stuck in limbo. Not quite living, still not dead, adrift in the world without much direction.

 

That’s when the Recall came through, when that long dead tracker of his that he had held onto had buzzed back to life. Winston’s voice pleaded with him across the world, tinny and garbled through the busted speaker. Jesse wasn’t sure if the world still needed heroes, but he was sure that there wasn’t much else for someone like him to do. And so Jesse emerged from the haze of a life on the run.

 

Others had heeded the same call to action, people that Jesse had never truly expected to see again. There was 76, risen from the dead with a chip on his shoulder and a story of pain behind his eyes. The sight of him caused Jesse to tense up, muscle memory from his days as an agent being reprimanded by his commanding officer, but also anger that the man even dared to show his face here again.

 

But then there were old friends like Fareeha, older and taller and stronger than the girl he had known before. She provided a sense of familiarity for the cowboy, and yet she felt like a different person entirely. Jesse could see the same uncertainty in her eyes, the altruistic desire to help others embittered by the painful memories of everything that Overwatch had taken from her.

 

Being here again, surrounded by ghosts, felt bittersweet. The halls echoed with memories of laughter and loss. Jesse had trouble sleeping at night.

 

The Watchpoint was quiet for awhile, filled only with ghosts and the jaded shells of former heroes, until new heroes heeded the call to action. Heroes who still believed that good could win out in the world, new friends to fill out the void of those dead and gone.

 

Hanzo Shimada was one of those new friends, or at least that’s what Jesse had hoped for when Genji said his brother would be joining the ragtag crew at the Watchpoint. The older Shimada brother was harder to read then smudged ink on the palm of your hand, and it threw Jesse for a loop. When Jesse had met Genji, the cyborg was often bitter and brooding, but as they became friends, a brighter and more bubbly personality began to emerge. It came and went, of course, because Genji was still bitter and angry with his family and with himself. But Jesse could see the pieces of that happy man put together when he saw Genji after the Recall, and while Jesse was skeptic towards Omnics, he couldn’t deny the positive effect that this Zenyatta character had on Genji.

 

But that was aside from the point at hand. Jesse was optimistic when Genji said his brother would be joining the new Overwatch. He knew the role that Genji’s brother had played in Hanamura, but he and Genji had talked about it for hours on one raw drunken night when they were in Blackwatch. Genji was angry, Jesse was pissed as all hell, but the world was changing wasn’t it? If Genji had changed, if he wanted his brother to join Overwatch, then surely Genji’s brother must have changed too, right?

 

Wrong.

 

Genji was grinning ear to ear as he introduced Jesse to Hanzo. Jesse didn’t want to say he was surprised, but Genji had spoken of his brother as a traditionalist, so he hadn’t expected a half-shaved haircut and a bridge piercing. But Jesse saw the same intensity in Hanzo’s eyes, the same way of holding himself in quiet confidence, so Jesse grinned and held out his right hand in greeting.

 

“Name’s Jesse McCree,” Jesse said, “If Genji ain’t already talked your ear off about me already. He’s already said a lot about you.”

 

Hanzo huffed a dry laugh, but his face showed no amusement. He shifted and adjusted the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder, his other hand clutched firmly around his bow. Jesse admired the weapon for a moment before dropping his arm and going to meet Hanzo’s harsh gaze.

 

“My brother does a lot of talking, but he doesn’t always listen to others,” Hanzo said drily, his lips pressed together in a thin line of disgust. “It’s unfortunate.”

 

“Is that so?” Jesse asked, because joking always came easily to him. He smirked as he glanced over at Genji, but the younger man had a look of nervousness in his eyes that Jesse didn’t like.

 

“Yes,” Hanzo replied coolly, “I told him I wasn’t here to make friends, and you’re making yourself look like a fool.”

 

Jesse blinked and watched as Hanzo brushed past him, pulling his bag on more tightly against him. Jesse put his hands on his hips and turned to see the older Shimada disappear around the corner.

 

He felt Genji come up beside him and place a hand on his shoulder and lean forward to talk near his ear. “My brother is just sour from the plane ride,” Genji reassured, “He’ll warm right up to you, I promise.”

 

“Man’s more sour than a lemon soaked in vinegar,” Jesse responded, turning his head and watching as Genji rested his chin on his shoulder, “You sure he’s your brother?”

 

“Be nice, please,” Genji asked as he angled his head to look up at Jesse, “It’s just his way, he doesn’t mean it.”

 

Jesse couldn’t see how Hanzo’s actions could be interpreted as anything but rude and downright mean, but Jesse decided to believe in Genji’s promise.

 

Hanzo certainly didn’t make it easy to like him. It was Genji who had to assured everyone in those first few weeks that his brother wasn’t an absolute bastard, and it was Zenyatta that assured everyone that Genji must be the one who knows his brother best. Jesse, determined to give Hanzo a chance, began observing Hanzo from across the room. It was reconnaissance in a way, always knowing where Hanzo was in a room, slowly learning his habits. And when Jesse found himself studying Hanzo’s movements more closely, the way his fingers moved as he strung his bow, how is muscles tensed ever so slightly whenever someone entered the room, how his brow furrowed in concentration and his tongue peaked out to lick his lips, the cowboy chalked it up to curiosity. He didn’t know anything about Hanzo, so of course he would be trying to get a read on the man and study his movements and habits, like gaining intel on a potential threat.

 

And when Hanzo looked over at him from across the room, Jesse ignored the way his heart jumped in his chest.

 

It had taken over a month for Hanzo to start saying good morning as he got breakfast in the mess hall, and it had taken another month after that for him to engage in small talk at the practice range. Now, nearly half a year after his arrival, Hanzo was an integral member of the new Overwatch team: a tactical asset and a decent teammate. He was on friendly terms with almost everyone, although he was the most talkative with Genji as they spoke in hushed and fast-paced Japanese. Hanzo still wasn’t forthcoming to any degree, and he didn’t have a close relationship outside of his brother, but the prickly edges around him had softened slightly.

 

One night, when the Overwatch team decided that a lot of booze and a lot of bad movies would be a good way to spend the night, Genji dragged a begrudging Hanzo into the rec room. It had been a bonding experience for the entire team, with Genji chanting some the rap about a “Jim West” and Lena insisting that “Lisa” was tearing her apart. Hanzo claimed he didn’t watch movies, but he was a surprisingly friendly drunk who leaned against whoever he was talking to at the moment. Jesse was in the middle of arguing with Genji about the actual viability of a shark tornado when Hanzo fell against his side and started laughing.

 

Jesse had never seen Hanzo have a proper laugh, the kind that started in your belly and spread throughout your body until it was difficult to breathe. But Hanzo was laughing and his cheeks were flushed and his body was warm and welcome against Jesse’s and everything fell into place after that.

 

Jesse didn’t like having a crush on his best friend’s brother. It sounded gross and cliche, and Jesse had no experience of Hanzo being anything more than an acquaintance towards him, and that was a generous title. But the spark was still there, and Jesse couldn’t deny it. Hanzo was a skilled bowman, he was thoughtful with his words and calculated in his actions, he was handsome as hell, and Jesse wanted to know him better.

 

After a week of agonizing over it, Jesse sat Genji down and told him the truth. But rather than the shocked and mildly disgusted response he expected, Genji only grinned with a spark of mischievousness in his eye.

 

“You’ve got a crush on Hanzo,” Genji sing-songed, “I am _never_ letting you live this down.”

 

“That really helps, thanks,” Jesse had groaned as he buried his head in his hands. “I just...I like him and I want to get closer to him. And believe me, I’ve spent plenty of time thinking and I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

 

“Well, you can stop worrying about it,” Genji replied, wrapping one arm around Jesse’s shoulder in a friendly hug. “If I don’t have the two of you head over heels for each other by the end of the month, I will consider myself an absolute failure.”

 

It was a long story, but it was that series of events that led to Jesse sitting on a crate in a hangar, waiting for Hanzo to walk by so he could give the man a postcard and enact the first phase of Genji’s matchmaking scheme.

 

Genji had said a small gift would be a good first step in getting Hanzo’s attention, so Jesse had been racking his brain trying to come up with the perfect gift. It was a mission abroad that had offered him the best opportunity to find such a gift.

 

There had been a little gift shop in the Lijiang Market in China where he, Symmetra, and Mei had been doing reconnaissance. During some idle time, Jesse had wandered into the shops and spotted the postcard with a glossy photo of cherry blossom trees in the spring. Genji often spoke fondly of the cherry blossoms that surrounded his childhood home in Hanamura, and it was close to springtime now, so Jesse bought the postcard with a smile and a skip in his step and the hope that Hanzo would like it.

 

But right now, Jesse was nothing but nerves. He was careful not to crinkle the picture as he gripped the postcard tightly between his fingers, weighing the option of leaving the card under Hanzo’s door and abandoning this whole charade, but that’s when Hanzo walked through the doorway.

 

Jesse’s eyes flicked up from beneath the brim of his hat, his breath hitching as he studied Hanzo’s clothes, a heavy jacket and baggy pants. His stride was measured and purposeful, silent even in his boots, and Jesse rose to his feet just as Hanzo realized he was there.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo said, nodding in greeting. “I did not realize you were back from your mission.”

 

“Just flew back in,” McCree replied, smiling and shifting nervously on his feet. “I figured I might stop by and say hello before I went back to my room.”

 

Hanzo’s brow furrowed slightly, more from confusion rather than disdain. He didn't respond to Jesse immediately, and a moment of awkward silence passed between them. Jesse swallowed hard and huffed out a laugh, scratching at the back of his neck as he stuck out his other hand, “I uh, saw this in a shop and I thought you might like it.”

 

Hanzo blinked and reached out to take the postcard out of Jesse’s fingers. “A gift,” Hanzo said, studying the back of the postcard where a short message was written:

 

 _To Hanzo, from Jesse_ ... _Saw this and it reminded me of you_

 

Jesse swallowed hard as Hanzo’s eyes studied the narrow script. Hanzo turned the postcard over slowly, and Jesse watched as his body went rigid when his eyes finally laid upon the picture on the back.

 

Another long silence passed as Hanzo studied the picture on the postcard. Jesse could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his palms begin to sweat. Hanzo wasn’t moving, and Jesse was pretty sure he wasn’t even breathing. It might have been better if Hanzo had at least said something first before going completely rigid.

 

Jesse shifted on his feet and cleared his throat, noticing how Hanzo flinched as if he had forgotten that Jesse was there.

 

“Well,” Jesse said tentatively, his fingers reaching upwards and curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, “Do you like it?”

 

Hanzo remained silent as he glared up at Jesse, and the cowboy could feel the foolish hope in his heart shatter. Now it was Jesse who couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and he watched helplessly as Hanzo crumpled up the postcard and shoved it back into Jesse’s hand. Hanzo turned and stalked away towards the practice range, his bow hanging from his back.

 

Jesse looked down at the ruined postcard in his hands, the scrawl of his own handwriting staring up at him.

 

The outcome couldn’t have been more disastrous if he tried.

* * *

“He didn’t say anything? Not even a grunt or a scoff? Maybe he rolled his eyes and you just didn’t see it!”

 

“He didn’t say anything.” Jesse sighed and covered his face with his hands as Genji paced the floor in the small room he kept in the Watchpoint. When he had returned to the Watchpoint, Genji had taken up residence in a spare room not far from a garden overlooking the cliffs of Gibraltar. The garden was a peaceful place, and it was where he and Zenyatta would often spend their mornings meditating.  

 

But Jesse couldn’t fathom finding his inner peace right now. After his absolutely catastrophic interaction with Hanzo, Jesse made a beeline for Genji’s room to tell him everything. With his heart laid bare and his nerves shot, Jesse was lying on Genji’s bed with no hope of ever talking to Hanzo again.

 

“It was like he didn’t even have emotions,” Jesse continued, pulling his hands down his face. “He just crumpled up the card and shoved it back into my hand like I had handed him a piece of shit.”

 

“If you had handed him a piece of shit, Hanzo would have shoved it in your face,” Genji replied with a smirk, but the cyborg settled his hands on his hips and managed a very thoughtful look. In the privacy of his own quarters, Genji never wore his mask, and Jesse always liked seeing the younger man’s face. The Genji that Jesse knew now, the one that had rediscovered his soul with an Omnic monk of all things, was an emotionally open book, and every little feeling played out on the scarred skin of his face. It was a far cry from the bitter and angry person he had been back in Blackwatch, when frustration drove his every action.

 

But right now? Genji looked downright amused by Jesse’s suffering, although appropriately bewildered (for Jesse’s sake) by his brother’s actions.

 

“It was a postcard, right?” Genji asked, more so restating the fact rather than asking for confirmation. “Did you write something sappy and stupid on the back?”

 

Jesse shook his head and sat up, picking up his hat from where it had fallen off the side of the bed. “I did write something, but it wasn’t even bad! I just saw a postcard with a pretty picture on it and it reminded me of him, and I knew he would like it.”

 

Genji cocked an eyebrow and he twisted to look over his shoulder at Jesse, “You knew he would like it? I wouldn’t even know what Hanzo would like in a picture, and I’ve known him all my life.”

 

“I remember you said once that where you grew up in Hanamura, and there was a garden full of cherry blossoms,” Jesse explained, his hands fiddling with the brim of his hat. “The postcard had this real nice close up of a tree with all those soft pink petals, and I thought Hanzo might like something like that, to remind him of home.”

 

The smile that grew on Genji’s lips was soft and wistful, and he shook his head with a quiet laugh as he turned to face Jesse fully. “Hanzo does not look back on his past as well as I do,” Genji said, “I was fortunate to have the freedoms that I had as a child. As the eldest son, Hanzo was given responsibilities that weighed heavily on him; he was forced to be a man when he was still only a boy.”

 

“Oh,” Jesse breathed, letting the words sink in for a moment. Jesse knew things hadn’t ended well for Genji in Hanamura, but the cyborg never seemed to hate his home or the life he had lived. But couldn’t Hanzo have explained that? “But I still don’t get how he could have that kind of reaction over a cherry blossom. I could’ve just thought it was a pretty lookin’ picture and that was it.”

 

Genji laughed softly and walked towards Jesse, sitting next to him on the bed and grabbing the cowboy’s hat, “That story is not mine to share. You’ll have to go to Hanzo for that explanation.” Genji placed the brown hat upon his head and smiled, running his fingers along the brim, “Perhaps I could be a cyborg cowboy rather than a cyborg ninja. It would be an interesting change.”

 

“Not important right now,” Jesse sneered, snatching the hat from Genji’s head only to watch his smile grow wider. “I’ve made a fool of myself already, and I don’t think your brother is going to look forward to talking to me again.”

 

“You were always a fool in my eyes, don’t worry,” Genji teased, but the look of defeat on Jesse’s face brought him a moment of hesitation. Genji pressed his lips together thoughtfully before placing a firm hand on Jesse’s shoulder, gently pulling that hat once more from Jesse’s hands.

 

“My brother is not an easy man to deal with, but he has been harder on himself than anyone else,” Genji said. “I am not going to tell you to speak to him again if you do not want to, but I think you will find that he is not accustomed to kindness, and he is even less accustomed to dealing with his own emotions.”

 

As Jesse turned to study Genji’s face, because he had never heard anything sound so sage and wise from the same guy he used to pull pranks with against Reyes, Genji placed his cowboy hat carefully back on his head.

 

“You really forgave him, for everything?” Jesse asked, frowning as he studied the scars on Genji’s face. “Everything he did to you can be chalked up to him just...not knowing how to deal with himself?”

 

“His actions against me were symptoms of his pain,” Genji replied, squeezing Jesse’s shoulder and looking the man in the eye. “I have forgiven my brother for what he has done, but he continues to suffer from demons only he has the power to forgive himself for. And that is his story to tell, not mine.”

 

Jesse blinked and swallowed hard, because this conversation had gained depth in a way that Jesse hadn’t expected, but he nodded his understanding. Hanzo may have fucked up in his life, but that didn’t make him less worthy of forgiveness, nor less worthy of healing. Jesse deserved an answer for why his postcard upset him so much, but Hanzo might benefit from explaining why it caused him pain too.

 

“Y’all mind telling me when you got all wise and shit?” Jesse said, leaning forwards and shoving Genji to the side with his shoulder, “One man finds inner peace and all of a sudden he’s got the license to dispense wisdom like an old man on a mountain top.”

 

Genji laughed and bounced up from his bed and stood in front of the other man with his hands on his hips. “That will be my job, once cyborg ninja becomes less fun,” Genji stated, “For now, my most sage wisdom is that we should find some whiskey. I saw Morrison trying to stash some in his quarters.”

 

Jesse grinned and allowed himself to push his pain aside and live in the moment. He would talk to Hanzo and he would get the answers he wanted, but for now, there was nothing he wanted to do more than steal some liquor and feel young for a while.

* * *

A half a bottle of whiskey and one very angry old man later, Genji and Jesse parted ways. Genji was going to meet Zenyatta for their evening meditation, and Jesse had resigned himself to wandering around the Watchpoint with the pleasant buzz of liquor and a good conversation in his veins.

 

In passing moments, Jesse could almost forget that so many years had passed between his days as a Blackwatch agent and his time here now as some kind of vigilante. When he was with Genji, pulling pranks and muffling his laughter, the familiar ache in his bones wasn’t so pronounced. The memories of things falling apart could be forgotten, as the memories of better times felt more present.

 

Jesse was in a wistful state of mind, with his hands in his pocket and a soft melody whistling from his lips, when he saw the sunset casting the shadow Hanzo beneath a small tree by the cliff. The alcove was a familiar one to Jesse, filled with memories of conversations that felt bittersweet now.

 

It was a sweet irony that it was Hanzo who found this very spot, and Jesse knew it was the best sign he was going to get that his conversation with Hanzo should happen sooner rather than later.

 

With a deep breath and the buzz of liquid courage, Jesse found himself walking towards Hanzo. He cleared his throat as he approached, and he pressed his lips together as he saw Hanzo tense and turn slightly in his direction.

 

“You mind if I take a seat?” Jesse asked, gesturing towards a patch of grass on the other side of Hanzo, “Beautiful sunset, and this is the best seat in the house.”

 

Hanzo hummed in agreement but said nothing, and Jesse waited a moment before stepping around the man to claim his spot on the ground.

 

There was a silence between the two men, but it did not feel as frigid as it had earlier that day. Jesse steeled his nerves and opened his mouth to speak, still unsure of what he was going to say, when Hanzo surprised him and cut him off at the start.

 

“I wish to apologize for my behavior earlier,” Hanzo said. “You offered me a gift, and I refused it with no mind for etiquette. It was rude of me.”

 

Jesse blinked, absorbing his words for a moment before nodding. “It was kinda shitty,” he said, looking at Hanzo as he drew up his legs and balanced his elbows on his knees. “You care to explain why?”

 

Hanzo had been sitting on his knees, almost as if in meditation, but he shifted uncomfortably with Jesse’s words. The man shifted off of his knees and sat slightly sideways, his gaze fixed on the bright horizon.

 

“It is...difficult,” Hanzo began, and he turned to Jesse as if to say more, but the man’s mouth closed like a fish gasping for breath.

 

Jesse knew the look of a man floundering for his words, so he took the step to help him out. “I got the card because Genji said you grew up with cherry blossoms in your family garden,” Jesse said, “But I’ve got the feeling that you both feel differently about their memory.”

 

Hanzo nodded, meeting Jesse’s gaze for a moment as he spoke again, “You are correct in saying that my brother and I do not feel the same about our childhood memories. I did not have much of a childhood.”

 

Jesse paused then, a heavy uncertainty settling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to give his sincere apologies and run away with his tail between his legs, maybe get a bit more drunk and make himself forget this little crush he had. But Jesse was rooted to the spot. Hanzo was grieving in some way and Jesse had brought up that pain, but if he could, he wanted to help Hanzo through it.

 

“Tell me about it then,” Jesse said. “If you’re comfortable, that is. I got all the time in the world.”

 

Hanzo sighed and bowed his head, breathing deeply for a long moment. Jesse was afraid he was overstepping, because he and Hanzo certainly weren’t close enough for confessions of childhood trauma, even if he had his own fair share. But Hanzo was different, he was private and prickly and probably pissed, so Jesse started to rise from his seat on the ground.

 

“Sit.”

 

Hanzo’s voice had been quiet in its resignation, but Jesse wasn’t going to protest. He nodded even though Hanzo’s head was still bowed and sank back down to the ground next to the archer.

 

A long moment of silence filled the night air, the only other sound being the waves crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Jesse was about to clear his throat just to hear some kind of noise when Hanzo lifted his head and looked out towards the deepening blue horizon.

 

“I am sure that Genji has told you something of Hanamura,” Hanzo began, his voice wistful as he seemed to detach himself from the present. “It was a village out of time, rooted in its modernity but clinging to the old ways. Genji and I spent our mornings in the old gardens and our evenings in the town, using coins we found on the ground to play games in the arcade.”

 

Jesse smiled slightly and huffed a quiet laugh, memories of a drunken Genji rambling about the conquests of high scores and raving groupies in the arcades of Hanamura. “He’s mentioned some things,” Jesse offered neutrally, glancing sideways at the archer next to him, “It sounds like it was delightful.”

 

“It was,” Hanzo replied, and Jesse can see longing in his eyes before he closes them and bows his head again, “For a long time, it was.”

 

Silence persists once more, but it does not last long as Hanzo lifts his head and speaks again. “The Shimada Clan is a name that holds weight in Japan, especially in Hanamura. Generations of men had built up the Shimada Clan from nothing, and my father was the latest in a long line of powerful leaders.” Hanzo paused then, swallowing hard and staring at the grass moving softly in the night air, “He wanted to pass that lineage to his first-born son, to me.”

 

“It was an honor to inherit such power,” Hanzo continued, “I wanted nothing more than to follow in my father’s footsteps, and I would do anything to please him. I would undergo physical training in the morning, spend hours with tutors until dinner, and then I would spend my nights preparing for the next day.”

 

“I was happy,” Hanzo said as his shoulders shook with a quiet laugh, but Jesse could hear the pain in his voice, “I thought my life was perfect.”

 

Jesse blinked and bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say but certain he wants to stay. He doubts that Hanzo has ever been this vulnerable with anyone, perhaps not even Genji, and it’s a fragile thing that Jesse is hesitant to disturb. Hanzo doesn’t seem to recognize Jesse’s uncertainty and continues to talk, too far along to stop the emotions that have begun to bubble out.

 

“For all my father’s sternness and pride, there was my mother’s tenderness and love,” Hanzo said, a sudden softness overcoming him. “She was a kind woman with more love in her heart than anyone I have known. Genji looks...looked like her. They had the same eyes, the same smile.”

 

Hanzo tenses again, shifting again to draw him his legs and wrap his arms wrapped tightly around them. “My mother often asked me to take tea with her, to walk with her to the market and take a break from my training. But I was young and stubborn, prideful of the man I would become but unaware of the child I still was, and I told her no. Yet she always asked me, every day, and my answer never changed.”

 

“I guess she was stubborn too,” Jesse said, and he notices that Hanzo seems to blink in surprise, as if he had forgotten he was there. “She wanted to spend time with you.”

 

“Yes,” Hanzo replied. “I wish I had spent that time. I wish I had been kinder to her.”

 

Jesse nods but doesn't say anything else, regrets for his behavior towards his own mother smoldering in his chest. But those are thoughts for another night where a lot more drunk and a bite more emotionally raw, because Hanzo begins speaking again.

 

“I was 14 years old. My father had begun to grow more stern. I thought that I was not meeting his standards, that he was preoccupied with his work, that he was worried about the trouble Genji was getting into. So I trained harder, studied more, slept less. I was more preoccupied with myself and the image my father saw of me that I did not realize that my mother no longer invited me for tea. I did not know that she had taken to spending most of her days in bed.”

 

Hanzo hesitated, shifting nervously but keeping his gaze firmly on the rapidly setting sun. “Her smile faltered, her eyes were empty, her hair was thin, and I was worried about how far I could fire an arrow with absolute accuracy. I was worried about earning a morsel of my father’s praise while my mother could barely hold down the morsels of food she managed to eat.”

 

“You didn’t know,” Jesse said softly. “You couldn’t help her even if you had been with her.”

 

Jesse understood sickness. He had seen friends and neighbors grow small and weary as their bodies wasted away, outside of their control. It was difficult to understand, and it was horrible to watch. Jesse couldn’t bear the thought of his mother like that, and he could only wonder how Hanzo felt with the memory of his mother forged in that image.

 

But Hanzo shook his head and forged on, and Jesse’s hands twisted with a comforting touch he hesitated to offer.

 

“It was a warm morning in the spring,” Hanzo said, his voice steady but growing more quiet. “I was supposed to meet with one of my tutors, but my mother’s handmaid told me that my mother had called for me instead. I tried to turn her away, tell her that I was busy. She pleaded with me and I argued like a child.”

 

Hanzo paused and shifted slightly to straighten out his back, “My father stood in the doorway then, looming. He said nothing, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. I thought it was disappointment for my petulance. I think now it was sorrow.”

 

“The handmaid led me to my mother’s chambers, and I saw my mother in her bed.” Hanzo pressed his lips together and breathed deeply for a moment before continuing, “She was a wisp of her former self. Once flushed cheeks were pale and hollow, her arms were bony at her sides, but her smile was still...”

 

Hanzo paused then for a long time, and Jesse cleared his throat and shifted to roll his left shoulder. Sitting on the ground this long wasn’t the best thing for old bones like his. But with the sun now almost completely below the horizon, Jesse began to realize that he had been sitting with Hanzo for a long time, and the man already seemed emotionally spent.

 

“You don’t have to tell me anymore if you don’t want,” Jesse offered, the fingers of his right hand reaching up to prod at the stiffened muscles in his shoulder. “I understand if it’s—”

 

“It’s fine,” Hanzo said suddenly, sharply, but Jesse could see the exhaustion in the man’s body. “I just need a moment. I haven’t spoken of her in a long time.”

 

 _Maybe not at all_ , Jesse wondered. Genji knew the story, of course. He probably had his own memories of his mother’s failing health and her death, but he had been young. People in Hanamura were probably kind, probably talked to him and let him mourn. And now he had Zenyatta as a confidant. But Hanzo? He had to be the man who wasn’t weak. He may have never spoken of his mother’s death, and no one expected him to talk about it.

 

 _But he’s talking now,_ Jesse said again, _No man is an island, no matter how tough you think you are. Learned that years ago._

 

Jesse found himself studying Hanzo’s face in the dim light of the approaching night. The strong lines of his face certainly made him handsome, but it also served to make him rigid. There was not much softness to be found. The lines were caused by furrowed brows and deep-set frowns. But for every emotion his face did not betray, Hanzo’s eyes reflected an ocean, a history of misery and pain where suffering has snuffed out happiness.

 

“You pity me,” Hanzo said coolly, and whatever vulnerability the man may have allowed to show was gone now, his posture rigid and his voice hard. “I do not need pity, nor is it wanted.”

 

Jesse shook his head quickly, “No, no I...s’not pity it’s just...” Jesse blinked and looked away, towards the final wisps of light disappearing on the horizon, “I wanna understand you. That’s all.”

 

“Understand me,” Hanzo said slowly, as if he was trying to understand what those two words might possibly mean as they were strung together.

 

Jesse nodded. It was an honest answer. Hanzo was an enigma in many ways, and Jesse wanted nothing more than to understand the man beside him, understand the way his mind worked and the history that had made him who he was today.

 

Jesse began to open his mouth to explain himself, but Hanzo shook his head and waved his fingers in a silent dismissal.

 

“She had been ill for months, cancer, inoperable,” Hanzo said, picking up exactly where he had left off before. “She didn’t want Genji or myself to know, she didn’t want us to worry, didn’t want us to mourn her before she was gone. But she was dying, it was too late for considerations.”

 

Jesse blinked and studied Hanzo curiously for a moment before speaking, “You didn’t know she was sick until she was...on her deathbed?”

 

Hanzo nodded, “Yes, and I do not blame her for her efforts to protect her children from her suffering. But if I had not been so focused on my training, I might have seen she was ill. I might have been able to care for her.”

 

Jesse hummed in acknowledgement, hearing the quiet regret in Hanzo’s voice. A son who was blind to his own mother’s pain. It wasn’t an intentional blindness, but one caused by the straightforward nature of youthful boyhood. Jesse understood that personally.

 

“She beckoned me forward and I hesitated. I could still see her in the gardens, playing with Genji when he was still a toddler, painting landscapes as I read next to her. She was full of life then, but there she was, dying.” Hanzo paused again, clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders, physically bracing himself against the pain the memory brought him.

 

“I stood by her bedside and she spoke to me, told me that she was proud of my dedication to my schooling and my training. She told me to care for Genji, to make sure he did not wallow in any sadness, to make sure he would be happy. She told me that she was sorry she could not see me grow.”

 

Jesse breathed deeply, stretching one leg out in front of him and shaking his head. “That’s a lot for any kid to handle,” Jesse said. “Fourteen or not. Deathbed or not. She was delivering her own eulogy.”

  
  


“She knew she would have no other time to say it,” Hanzo said, his voice rough with tears he refused to shed even in the growing darkness. “Yet still I pleaded with her. I told her there must be some other medicine that she did not consider, some doctor in some foreign land who could provide a cure. I asked for her not to die.”

 

“Jesus,” Jesse breathed, but Hanzo continued barreling through his sentences.

 

“She only smiled then, she shook her head and took my hands to squeeze inside of hers. She turned my head to her window, and she spoke so softly...” Hanzo grew quiet, his mother’s words not spoken in the air, but Jesse knew the must be playing in his head like a ghostly echo. “Her window faced the garden, and the cherry blossoms were in bloom. I was watching the blossoms tremble in the breeze when I felt my mother’s hands slip away from mine.”

 

The air seemed to thicken as Hanzo fell silent and Jesse swallowed around the lump in his throat.

 

“She made sure I looked out the window,” Hanzo said, his head bowing deeply once more, “I think she did not want me to see her die.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jesse said. What else could he say? The man had beared a part of his soul to him, a part that Jesse had made raw by a small act of kindness. Jesse felt a pang of guilt then in his stomach. Hanzo had harbored this pain and carried it with him, and now Jesse had caused it to break open and rush forth like a flood. And all for the sake of a crush and a silly postcard.

 

“I do not need your condolences,” Hanzo said, and Jesse winced. “It was a long time ago.”

 

The words were harsh, but Jesse knew that Hanzo had only meant to be honest. Yet the fact remained that Hanzo had held on to this pain, and it was Jesse’s honest attempt at kindness that had opened him to sharing.

 

Jesse didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate the nuances of his thoughts, so instead  heavy silence hung between the two men. Something had shifted between them, but it was unnamed and looming over them, like the darkness now on the horizon.

 

Jesse clearing his throat and rolled his shoulders, reaching back and planting his hands on the ground. “I should go,” he said as he began to shift his weight, “It’s getting a bit late after all, and old men like me need rest.”

 

Jesse could hear Hanzo laugh, but he didn’t see the archer’s arm moving out to grasp at the muscle of Jesse’s bicep. Jesse stilled as Hanzo’s hand, surprisingly warm in the cool night air, simply held onto him.

 

“Stay,” Hanzo murmured, barely audible but full of emotion. “I do not need condolences, but a...friend would be welcome.”

 

A friend. Jesse hesitated for a moment before shifting slightly so that his body was closer to Hanzo’s. Friendship was a start; friendship was a path to getting better, and Jesse would value that more than anything else.

 

“I suppose I can stay for a little while longer,” Jesse mused, turning to offer Hanzo a small and sincere smile. “But it’s you I’ll be falling asleep on, y’hear?”

 

Hanzo laughed again, and it was full of warmth and life that made Jesse smile even wider.

 

The silence that followed after was no longer uncomfortable. The pair sat side by side, and neither said anything when Hanzo’s hand moved down Jesse’s arm towards his hand. They stayed silent as Jesse’s fingers entwined themselves with Hanzo’s. And Hanzo said nothing as he felt Jesse lean against his shoulder and fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Yours till the paint brushes,
> 
> SerendipityDreamer


End file.
